After the Fog (37 page)

* * *

Henry felt some solace knowing Rose didn’t attend Johnny’s games. Her work, housework, and fear she’d witness Johnny breaking his neck kept Rose away. So, Henry arranged for a money exchange to occur at the game. Thank the Lord for Dottie and her kind, wealthy soul. Her three thousand dollar loan would cover Buzzy’s gambling debts. Luckily she’d gotten the funds together without drawing attention from her parents.

Before her hospital shift she’d give Henry the money, and he would wait for one of Fat Gordon’s goons to collect it. Buzzy was in hiding, somewhere, to keep his legs and fingers intact until the money shuffle was complete. This was a plan Henry could live with. He would have to. He hated lying to Rose, but he couldn’t let Buzzy be maimed or worse, even if he was a jackass.

Henry made it to the Legion Field just as the marching band was heading into the stands. Not that he could see the individual band members clearly as their black and white uniforms hid behind the fog. The robust music the band normally played while filing into the bleachers came out as more of a bleating, mooing sound, the darkened field making even the most surefooted horn-blower pay more attention to where he was stepping than to what he was playing.

Henry waited behind others to head into the bleachers and squinted, looking for Johnny. Although shocks of the football players’ orange uniforms peeked through the blackened air, creating a hazy auburn glow, he couldn’t identify where exactly his son stood. Henry was anxious standing there with Unk, hoping his breathing would be okay outside; the old man insisted on attending and Unk had blackmailed Henry into agreeing.

“I slaved in that mill since I was 13.” He had poked at Henry’s chest, his voice quavering as he was clearly trying to sound firm. “I served in the first world war, I’ve lived with Auntie Anna for what feels like centuries. I deserve to see my grand nephew do his family, this whole town proud.”

Henry had opened his mouth to argue, but Unk put his hand up to silence Henry.

“I know that brother of yours owes a shitload of cash to that old fuck Fat Gordon. I’ll blow the whole shebang to old Rosie if you don’t take me with you.”

Henry had sighed and plopped Unk’s felt hat on his pointy noggin. He couldn’t leave the man in the kitchen smoking cigarettes and listening to the roar of the crowd up the hill, crying because he couldn’t be there to see his nephew play. And while Henry planned to spill everything to Rose once he got everything level and right, he was not ready to confess yet another scheme. Besides, Rose never came to the games.

“Rose’ll kick my ass if you drop dead, Old Man,” Henry said at the field. He patted Unk on the back after a fit of coughing. The toots and thumps of the band, the smell of popcorn and grilled hot dogs, normally invoked pleasure, but all the coughing and hacking by every person who passed, worsened his morose mood.

Henry maneuvered Unk up three rows of the bleachers, through the murky swirl of air, stepping on toes, bumping into knees and feeling his way until he found a space big enough for them.

He craned his neck to see Dottie. She wasn’t the type of woman to be late for her shift. She cared for Henry, he knew that, and a lot, but she had a job to do and she wasn’t about to sacrifice it for him. She was just like Rose. Except, well, except for the fact Dottie wasn’t his wife.

Henry felt a hand on his shoulder, spun around to Dottie in the row behind him, smiling like an angel. She slipped a paper bag over his shoulder, and Henry reached for it clasping Dottie’s hand. She slid hers out from under his, patting him as she leaned over and kissed Henry on the forehead then disappeared without a word.

Two racing heartbeats later, the bag of money inside his jacket, Henry felt another hand, a vice-grip on his shoulder. When Henry turned he was up close with an unshaven, pompadoured man, mouth opened in a snide grin, a tooth missing in front. Henry couldn’t miss the whiskey on his breath. Henry reached for the bag and passed it back over his shoulder, not wanting to share even the shortest conversation with this man.

The man scrunched up his face and laughed like a hyena. Henry was glad the sounds of the football game drowned out the man’s chilling cackle. With a final squeeze of Henry’s shoulder, the man released him and was gone.

Henry’s posture relaxed and he let out the air he’d been unconsciously holding. He rubbed his forehead, and ran his hand through his hair, waiting for his blood pressure to return to normal. The chill of committing another act of betrayal, no matter how noble, receded from his mind.

That is, until he looked down the bleachers, past Unk and down one row, and only two people away. Rose was sitting there, staring at him. Henry saw her through the fog, and could tell she was wondering what the hell Henry had been up to with the cloak and dagger act.

A roar came from the crowd, starting from down below. The fans sitting the lowest could see through the fog the best. Another roar, the fans on their feet, cheering, at something good. Henry could not see, but Rose turned away from him, overwhelmed by the people near her, tugging, cheering saying Johnny had just made a first down. Henry could hear them say Johnny was impressing the hell out of every scout.

Henry grinned, heard a man next to him congratulating him. He hadn’t realized anyone had taken the seat. Mr. Sebastian. Henry almost felt a pang of compassion; the man was out of his element but clearly wanted be part of the people in town. But, then the man started chattering, bending Henry’s ear about something, it was hard to hear with all the cheering but something about family secrets, the value of keeping them, and keeping your name clean and clear.

What the hell was Sebastian blabbering about? Henry wished he’d shut up because he was too preoccupied with his son’s playing, Unk’s coughing, and scared shitless about what his wife just witnessed to make sense of what the blowhard was trying to get across.

* * *

Johnny snaked his fingers under his earflaps and pulled at them, his leather helmet feeling as if it were shrinking. He huddled his team up tight. The fog had settled thick on the field and when a player kicked off, they lost sight of the ball in the air. The fans nearest the field could see their reaction, and informed the crowd and the information rose upward like a wave.

Johnny couldn’t see through the fog to his father and Unk shoving fists into the air, hollering after each play. He did catch a glimpse of the Notre Dame scout, head bent over his notebook, glancing back and forth at the field.

Johnny blinked. If he were tipsy, he’d know he was hallucinating. But there she was. He squinted and shook his head to clear his mind. Over the years he’d tried to convince her of the benefits of coming to his football games. Where else would she have ample opportunities to use her nursing skills? But she always flinched, as though the thought of seeing her son tackled to the ground was too much to handle.

But there she was, her trademark black nurse’s bag dangling from her arm. Then she was gone, climbing into the stands, vanishing into the thick fog.

Her appearance threw him. He’d planned to show the scout what he was made of—like Rose had ordered. Except what he wanted to show the scout was he had no intention of playing football in college. Johnny was sure he could bring home a win, even while downplaying his own prowess.

He reminded himself the other fellas would give their right nut to play for Notre Dame. So, when the ball was snapped, instead of Johnny putting the team on his back and barreling up the field himself, he handed off to the fellas who could use a second look by the scout. He launched a few balls downfield knowing after years of practice his guys would be there to make the catch, even in the fog, and that would spotlight them.

And, when they dropped a pass, Johnny would get the blame for making the throw in the first place. He felt proud, as though his shifting the attention onto others he would ensure that everyone got what he wanted in the end. And, he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t letting anyone down in the process.

* * *

Rose had spent so much time being angry with Henry that week that when she saw Unk out in this sickly fog, she didn’t have the energy to make her way up the bleachers. Besides, the crowd wouldn’t allow for movement and after a few minutes of staring up at him, Rose decided Unk was doing fine, especially considering how he’d looked earlier. Rose set aside her worry about the fog, like everyone else. Sure she’d seen one man die, and heard about another. The people she’d visited the day before were sick, but each of the deaths came to people with a history of breathing issues. And, the hundreds of people at the game didn’t seem affected beyond the coughing and lack of visibility. It was like any other day in Donora.

She had not really spoken to Henry since their last argument, but there he was, up two rows and over a few people, with Unk. She would not miss Johnny’s big game. She’d snuck in to a couple of games over the years, but the sight of him being chased down by linebackers, their thick arms closing around his body, slamming him to the ground, was too much.

She always found an excuse not to attend a game. She knew football was simply a gateway to opportunity and she relished the day when he would be safely ensconced in a job without risk of physical harm. Football led to college and that would lead to success and career and then she’d find peace.

But this game was different. He’d promised Rose he’d show the scouts how talented he was. She knew the way Henry and the residents of Donora savored the retelling of a big game, and she was determined to have seen it with her own eyes.

As she went up the bleachers, she thought she saw a red coat through the fog, Dottie Shaginaw’s, and near Henry, but that would not make sense. Nurse Dottie always worked the Saturday shift in the mill hospital.

Diamond Dottie had no reason to be at the game, even a game important to the town. Rose was squeezing herself in between Davey Steinmetz and Arnie Lyons, and glanced behind her, catching sight of a man patting Henry’s shoulder then slipping up the bleachers through the thickening fog. She had tried to read Henry’s expression, but the haze was too dense, and burned her eyes, blurring her vision.

By the time she refocused, she was being jostled and pulled to standing by people around her. Johnny had handed the ball off to Max Furman for a first down.

Rose vaguely knew what that meant, but didn’t have time to ask; Mrs. Tripp had turned around to say she was needed down below. Rose stood to make her way down when Big Ralph stopped right in front of her.

“Maybe you can go resuscitate your husband’s career, Rosie? Sebastian’s up there with him right now. Maybe yunz are more connected than I thought.”

Rose climbed back up where she’d come from and saw Mr. Sebastian sitting, talking intently to Henry.

Could Sebastian be telling Henry about Rose? Her past? Rose’s hand flew to her ear, her two lobes. She could not believe Sebastian recognized her from so long ago, but something like that, her ear, was unmistakable.

If Henry would have looked up at that moment, he would have seen Rose staring at him, but he didn’t take his attention from Sebastian. Someone jostled Rose as he pushed by, making Rose turn and start back down the bleachers. Maybe Sebastian didn’t even know that was Rose’s husband. No way he would tell Henry about Rose. He’d want his secret kept, too. Or would he?

Big Ralph elbowed her again as she descended. “Hey Rosie, why don’t you do some first-aid, neb around a bit, tell people how to live their lives and then go on home and…” Rose didn’t hear the rest of what the fat man said.

Her mind was on overload. “Ahh, stuff it, big Man,” Rose said pushing by him, inching down the bleachers, between neighbors, seeing that the lower she got the thinner the fog was. People slapped her on the back with “Johnny’s the best,” and “Another Donora boy gonna play in the big-time,” and “Johnny’s gonna put us on the map like Stan Musial!” Rose smiled, thanking everyone as she passed, enjoying the fact they were talking about her kid. The one the town knew would do them proud, even if Rose was a thorn in their side.

Rose stood at the bottom of the bleachers looking for whoever supposedly needed her, but no one was there. Her line of sight was much better and she watched several plays develop into nothing. Monongahela was getting the best of Donora, with Johnny actually seeming to sabotage several of his own plays, not scrambling as she’d heard he typically did, surprising even the most seasoned lineman, Instead, he stood there, knocked to hell, the ball flying out of his hands and recovered by the other team. What the hell was he doing?

Rose glanced from the field to the scout, unable to see too much of either. But she could tell by the way the scout was bent over his notebook that he was scribbling something, grimacing and shrugging after that last fumble.

It shocked her to hear Johnny’s laughter rising out of the fog. She strained to see his face, was he really laughing? She couldn’t see his expression clearly, but still, she knew his laugh. Rose recalled their last words to each other “Show them what you want,” she had said, “I will,” he told her, and Rose knew he was doing exactly that.

Her heart beat heavy and fast. Johnny had looked her in the eye and promised. Could he have purposely spoken words that he intended differently than Rose would have taken them? Had he lied without literally speaking a lie? She pulled her bag close, hugged it into her belly, feeling betrayed by yet another child. She told herself Johnny would come through for them. It was the kind of boy he was. Wasn’t he?